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SONNET 57
Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend;
Nor services to do till you require.
Nore dare I chide the world-without-end hour,
Whilst I (my soverign) watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour,
When you have bid your servant once adieu.
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought,
Where you may be, or your affaird suppose,
But like a sad slave stay and think of nought
Save where you are, how happy you make those.
So true a fool is love, that in your Will
(Though you do anything), he thinks no Ill
-William Shakespeare
VIRTUE
Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright!
THe bridal of the earth and sky-
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night;
For thou must die.
Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave
Bid the rash grazer wipe his eye
Thy root is ever in its grave,
And thou must die.
Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie,
My music shows ye have your closes
And all must die.
Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Like seasoned timber gives;
But though the whole world turn to coal
Then chiefly lives.
-George Herbert
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